You Only Hurt The Ones You Love
by Sagarmatha
Summary: A...complex sexual encounter between Jaenelle and Daemon. The story takes its launching point from the "morning sex" encounter in Tangled Webs. Sexual content but less graphic than some of the things in Anne Bishop's books, so pretty tame really.
1. Chapter 1

Daemon Sadi, Warlord Prince of Dhemlan, was doing paperwork. He hated paperwork. He had never been the warrior that Lucivar had always been but if he had to be up this early in the morning, he almost wished he was in the garden with his brother right now, training for some future battle.

Daemon felt a wave of groggy and cranky female energy flow through the house and smiled at the good-natured tone of the grouchiness. It signaled that Jaenelle had woken up and that she already knew that she was just going to have one of those days were nothing would seem right. He looked back down at the paperwork on his desk and tried remind himself not to get too enthusiastic about the perfect opportunity to fuss today.

A few minutes later, a frustrated energy washed over him and before he had a chance to be amused, he flinched and pushed back from the desk. It was nothing, he told himself, a worried husband's response to his wife's dissatisfaction but he knew it was more than that. There were particular tones of female emotion that still made him uneasy, but he had been unwilling to admit that to himself until...

Daemon had slowly begun to suspect that there had been something wrong about the excitement that he had felt when Witch had sent fear surging through him during the recent bout of morning sex that had left him shaky. It hadn't been just respectful fear, it had been utter terror that had quickly been translated into sexual stimulation before he'd even had a chance to acknowledge it. And yet this confused him because he did not truly fear Jaenelle or Witch but only as a Warlord Prince should fear his Queen when Protocol is observed. He knew what fear felt like, he of all people, and he did not fear her.

After all, it was quite natural for a weaker male to be intimidated by a stronger female. And it was also quite natural for a male in love to feel weaker than his mate, particularly in bed, not to mention for a male to feel a bit jumpy around Witch…but shear terror…

And then, sitting there with his silly papers, it hit him. Daemon, the man, loved Jaenelle and Witch and had no fear. Daemon Sadi, the Warlord Prince, loved his Queen who was Witch and had no fear. But the part of himself that had been created to protect the innocent boy who had been ringed and tormented, to protect the young man who had been taught things no male of that age should know so that he could please cruel Queens, to protect the adolescent who had been fondled and used, and to protect the man who had endured pain and humiliation for sport…the Sadist knew fear. And the Sadist's original job was to destroy the fear to protect those parts of him hurt.

Daemon had thought of the Sadist only as his violent potential, but it was this part of himself that had reacted and manipulated the thrill that had gone through him when Witch pressed her teeth against his neck in a gesture of supreme dominance. What he had felt had been a jolt of panic that with another woman would have turned him coldly violent except that it was counter checked and controlled by the parts of him that loved and surrendered to Jaenelle. The Sadist had had no choice but to change his strategy as he did what he had always done and protected his remaining fragile emotions from shock of allowing such power over his body and mind. The Sadist had twisted the fear into sexual desire and had used seduction to redirect Jaenelle to safer territory. The Sadist was such a well developed part of his persona that even he had forgotten the true depths of the terror and degradation that had created it. He had also forgotten the subtlety that Sadist was capable of in the bedroom.

He had to admit that there had been times when he had had to remind himself that she did not behave like the Queens from Terreille but he had always known that the remnants of the fear and anger had nothing to do with her. It was understandable, he argued to himself, that the Sadist would not be so easily tamed by love, but he didn't want to be scared any more. Jaenelle didn't deserve his fear. She had sacrificed herself to save him and all of the Blood. Jaenelle had accepted the Sadist was part of him, a keen weapon useful for protecting his family, but the Sadist interacting with his wife, his Queen, his love in any way was not acceptable.

Daemon had concluded this so furiously that he had pounded his fist on his desk creating a cracking sound in the piece of furniture that was not a good sign. He flinched at the sound but chose to ignore the fact that he'd probably just broken his desk.

* * *

Several weeks later...

Daemon's mouth lingered on Jaenelle's lips as he sent eager phantom hands to supplement his own hands as he explored her body. He considered briefly moving on from this soft pleasure to more pressing desires but it was still novel for him to actually enjoy giving pleasure to a woman so he liked to make it last for as long as possible. He was happily performing his husbandly duties when a soft snarl issued from his lovely wife. He snarled back, not bothering to lift his head from where he was lavishing his attention. Then suddenly found himself snatched up and flopped on his back.

Daemon bared his teeth and gave another sensual snarl, lifting his body up to met Jaenelle's as she moved to straddle his thighs. She had apparently had enough of his teasing which was fine by him because his body was more than willing to give her release. When he reached a sitting position, she put her hands on his chest. He locked onto her mouth with an urgent kiss and shifted his hands to her bottom to lift her onto him and then unexpectedly he found himself being pushed back down on his back. He resisted ever so slightly and allowed a groan of protest to escape from his lips to which Jaenelle's response was a firmer push. He obeyed and once she had him on his back she deftly grabbed his wrists, pinning them at his side. She shifted her knees between his legs, forcing them wide, and then reached up and pressed her teeth to his neck.

The growl that she made was soft and hungry. Daemon knew that it was Witch that he was dealing with now. A shock of fear induced pleasure ran through him.

_No_, Daemon told the Sadist and hoped he would listen, _You will not cheapen this. Witch is dominant but she is not like those bitches. She doesn't deserve to be manipulated._

Daemon could almost feel the Sadist laugh, shrug his shoulders…and abandon him.

Jaenelle released her hold on his neck and left a trail of kisses on her journey to bite playfully at Daemon's right nipple. A ripple of real pleasure went through him and he tried unconsciously to twist his wrists in Jaenelle's grip. Her grip clamped down, aided by Craft, which brought Daemon back to the reality of being pinned and restrained by a dominant witch intent on sexual satisfaction. Without the control of the cool and collected Sadist, Daemon panicked, testing her grip again, trying to force his legs closed, attempting to fight his way out physically but all that this succeed in doing was making her restrain him more forcefully and then…then he felt her teeth again, closing on his throat. The growl this time was a warning and the points of her teeth pressed down hard enough to threaten to break the skin. Daemon froze and tried to calm himself. He felt tethered by his love for her even more so than by her physical and mental strength and it was terrifying.

Despite her warning, all he felt from her was the same pure and unpolluted sexual desire that he had come to adore in her because it didn't make him feel dirty. Witch was merely done with the games, she wanted her pleasure, and Witch, like a Warlord Prince in rut, was capable of losing her hold on civilized behavior when she was filled with such strong desire. She wasn't being cruel, she was simply demanding what she deserved. She was his Queen and his wife.

But none of these thoughts helped him, when, satisfied at his submission, she released her hold from his neck, nudged his head to the side and ran her tongue along his jugular vein, reinforcing her dominance.

Every ounce of emotional control deserted him and all he knew was love and fear tangled up together in a psychologically draining wave of feeling. He was a boy again unsure of what would happen but secretly knowing that the violation of his body that he feared was not a childish nightmare, it was real and about to happen. But he was also a loving husband and a loyal Warlord Prince who wanted nothing more than to serve his Queen and please his wife. He would not stop her, he would not defend himself. She could take what she wanted.

Jaenelle shifted back and rubbed her hips against him to gauge his readiness, which had understandably flagged, and then she turned her attention back to his nipples to remedy the situation.

He closed his eyes and tried to relax. He tried to feel the pleasure and encouragement she was trying to give him but his body started to tremble gently in her grasp as she continued to nibble at him. Thankfully, this did not alarm her. He felt so physically exposed, so emotionally vulnerable without the cloak of his own sexual sway. He told himself that she deserved this surrender, and she did, but this did not prevent tears from beginning to roll slowly down his cheeks.

She brushed her mind gently against his inner barriers and a fresh jolt of panic shot through him, though he managed to control his body's reaction. Then came another push at his barriers, not ungentle, but not lover like this time, firm and insistent. Daemon swallowed hard and opened himself up to her completely, letting the feel of her psychic strength wash over him and penetrate into the depths of his mind, an act of surrender more agonizing then those he had already allowed.

"Huh!" Jaenelle gasped breathlessly and Daemon slowly opened his eyes to see his wife's horrified face. She was shocked to find her husband shuddering and crying underneath her.

"It's okay," he said to her with a brave if wavering smile, "Take me."

This was absolutely not the right thing to say but the man in love had already convinced the boy to accept this. He had not considered what she must be thinking.

"Daemon," she said gently as if speaking to a child. Then she carefully released her hold on him in a way that managed not call attention to the fact that she had just had him pinned and spread for her pleasure.

Daemon could not decide which was more heartbreaking, the fact that his wife had given up the pleasure he had tried to offer her or the way she had slid off of him and wrapped him up in her arms like a frightened boy. He didn't have much time to consider this thought before he started sobbing in her arms. Jaenelle rocked him softly and murmured things to him in the old tongue until he calmed down enough to only produce an occasional sniffle.

* * *

Please review! Thanks for reading!

I know this story is a different spin on Daemon and Jaenelle but I was kind of unsatisfied with everything just being perfect sexually between them. Witches can be fierce too and it shouldn't take much to touch on Daemon's sensativity to female sexual dominance even where she's sort of just being playfull. Anyway, I'm thinking of maybe doing one more chapter from Jaenelle's prospective, reacting to this episode.

Let me know what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

Jaenelle watched Daemon sleep. She was considerably calmer than she was when she had realized that Daemon was weeping and shaking in terror as she...

But she had moved past the initial shock and self-loathing. Now she was thinking about what she should do next.

It was easier to think when he was not looking at her. It was easier to think when none of the males where around and she could immerse herself in feminine thoughts without having their expectations weigh on her. Not that she normally minded, it was a Queen's job to look after her Court just as they guarded her. She didn't have a proper Court anymore, but she did have some strong males that still needed managing and it was mentally draining…which was why the role of Consort to the Queen had been created.

It wasn't just that a woman needed a lover. If that were the case a Queen could simply call whatever male she wanted to her bed. No, a Queen required a special kind of release, a particular sort of intimacy in the bedroom, a freedom from the limitations of her everyday life. It wasn't just the Warlord Princes who were violently passionate.

The corruption of Terreille had not been natural, but it had been, at least initially, driven by that need before it had been twisted and corrupted.

Even though Jaenelle's eyes were wandering over Daemon's beautiful body and her right hand was toying with the edge of the sheet that only barely covered his buttocks, she was thinking about all the pain he had been through. There were no marks, no scars, she had been partially responsible for that, but he was clearly still unhealed.

There was not much she could do about his emotional pain, but understand and tread lightly, though her need to protect him, even from herself, was strong. She had spent the last two hours beating herself up and devising ways to shield him from anything that would remind him of his time as a pleasure slave. But when she was done, she knew that it was wrong. She'd made that mistake twice before: accepting him as her Consort after he returned from the Twisted Kingdom but not taking him into her bed and pushing him away when her body had been devastated by the Purge. She was still young and overzealous but she was determined not to repeat a rejection that would probably hurt him more than what she had done to him tonight.

Jaenelle finally let the sheet go and let her hand trail up his spine and sunk it into his disheveled hair. He sighed heavily, slightly arching his back at her touch, and resettled himself. He was so beautiful but only as he slept was he truly lovely. It was only then that all of the wariness was gone, all of the caution and guarded watchfulness. When he closed his eyes and he drifted off, he became soft and innocent.

Did he know, she wondered, how fierce his distrust still was? Not of her specifically but of the world. Could he tell the instincts of a Warlord Prince and from those of a frightened boy? And did he know where the trained lover stopped and the husband began?

She had begun to wonder more recently at all of the little tricks and sensual games he had introduced in the bedroom. How much of that was her loving Daemon and how much if it was the accomplished Sadist? She did not fear him and not just because she will still a Queen how had enough power to control him if necessary. But she had begun to worry that, while he was now a happy husband, he was also still a skilled pleasure slave. She knew he no longer felt the constant humiliation of slavery, but when he was pleasuring her in the bedroom, she sometimes got the feeling that he found some comfort in knowing precisely what was expected of him. As if he were safe as long as she writhed in pleasure and moaned to him for more.

But get him on his back…. Let your hands linger too long in one place…. Look too deeply into his eyes searching for a hint of abandonment to desire… And you'd find yourself lost in the bliss of his touch again before you've had the chance taste what it is like to give pleasure as he does.

Jaenelle had been young when they first made love and she had had her own story of sexual violence, but now that she was older, deeper desires swirled within her. Witch was not a child. Witch was not satisfied with a lover boy who toyed with her and made her body sing with pleasure, but did not yield himself to her hand. Jaenelle regretted the hurt she had caused Daemon, but Witch was sympathetically irritated.

* * *

Alright everyone…tell me what you would do to help Daemon get over his fear….hum?

Yes, yes, I know. My Jaenelle is a bit different than Ms. Bishop's but we never get anything from Jaenelle's perspective and I don't like the whiny, overprotective Jaenelle. My Jaenelle's grown up a bit let's say.

Please review and then, if you're good boys and girls, I tell you what Witch does!


	3. Chapter 3

Daemon was awake. He was lying as still as possible in order to be able to hear if his wife, who lay next to him, was awake by the sound of her breathing. He had been alternately convincing himself that she was awake and then asleep for the last fifteen minutes. He finally decided that he was being silly and rolled over gently to face her.

Jaenelle's eyes were closed, but she was awake. She was waiting for her Consort to stop pretending to be asleep and make some movement so that she could pretend to be woken up. And he was her Consort in this moment. It was the man responsible for her pleasure that she intended to talk to, because she had decided that simply comforting her husband would get neither of them anywhere.

"Good Morning," she said in a carefully constructed mumble and stretched as she looked up at him.

"Morning," he murmured and shifted his eyes away from hers. "I'm sorry," he said. It was lame, he knew, but he didn't know where to start.

"Daemon…," she breathed and she put all of her love, reassurance, sympathy, and command behind her voice.

Daemon raised his eyes to look at her because no Warlord Prince could ignore the call of his Queen, but his expression was still pained.

"Daemon, I am sorry for my actions last night," Jaenelle said and lifted a hand to caress his face, "I went beyond where you were comfortable. I abandoned all restraint."

Daemon smiled at this, relieved. Pity would have been comforting but it would have let the feelings of shame linger. She had skipped directly to the apology and saved him from having to step on the emotional battle field that he had been dreading all morning.

"I have that effect on women," he purred, ready to put the conversation behind him. He slid closer, thinking to erase the memory of being unable to please his lover without feeling violated, by performing a medley of his sexual talents for her entertainment.

The serious look in Jaenelle's face did not fade as he had hoped that it would when he pressed his body against hers.

"I want to give you pleasure," she half stammered but once she got started, she knew she had to continue or he would distract her, "I want to feel your body go soft with pleasure under my touch and I want to feel your muscles tighten in the throws of ecstasy that I have caused. I want to hear your blissful moans in my ears and know that you are calling out to me in joyful surrender. I want to see the thrill of desire in your eyes and not the calculations of a well trained lover."

Daemon went cold and his eyes glazed over, but Jaenelle could see her words working their way into the places in his mind that needed to hear them.

"I have given you all of myself," he said, his voice devoid of feeling.

"You have given so much, my love," Jaenelle responded lovingly, caressing his face again even though he made no sign that he felt it. "But it was one thing to give pleasure and another to take pleasure…and yet another thing all together to accept pleasure and surrender yourself to it in a way that honors the lover who gives it."

The feeling in Daemon's eyes returned in a flood of warring emotions. He knew exactly what she meant. Being a connoisseur of both the pleasure and pain of others, he knew how to take people to that place against their will. Only he added a dash of pain as the penalty for forcing him to give pleasure. It was why he was called the Sadist. He could make you crave him and submit to his touch despite the promise of pain equal to the pleasure. They hated him afterwards, not for the agony but because he had made them knowingly yield their bodies and yearn for even the pain.

Jaenelle watched the feelings of anger, yearning, and pain flash across his face and knew that she had touched on a deeply hidden desire in Daemon. He had punished people that he had despised by abusing their bodies and their will, but in the moment of their surrender he had seen how beautiful it could be. He had recognized that seeing that kind of rapture on the face of the woman that he loved would be exhilarating. And he had nurtured a desire to be able to give himself back to his lover the same way. But that had been a long time ago. Now that he was faced with the opportunity, it terrified him.

Daemon suddenly rolled and whipped the covers of himself, spilling himself gracefully to his feet, only to storm off into the Consort's rooms.

Jaenelle watched him go and wondered how long it would take him to come back to her.


	4. Chapter 4

By the time Jaenelle had taken her shower and dressed for the day, Daemon was already gone. Beale would only say that Prince Sadi had not specified where he was going, but she knew he was only saying that to protect her feelings. Those were the words Beale used when Daemon had snuck off to do something for her that he wanted to be a surprise. The message let her know that someone at least knew his whereabouts, even though she could not. But this time she had felt Daemon blow through the house like an icy wind leaving frost in its wake. She knew he had told Beale nothing.

Jaenelle was beginning to second guess her decision. The sex was fine…well amazing and he seemed to enjoy himself. But no…no, she didn't want to find him trembling in fear ever again. They needed to deal with his fear and she needed a lover she didn't have to tip toe around. She would never hurt him, he must believe that even if his body didn't. But she suspected that is wasn't pain that he was truly afraid of.

* * *

"Daemon," Lucivar called out to his fast approaching brother, "Get over here and help me wrangle my delightful son because if you don't….."

Lucivar stopped midsentence when he felt the cold rage that preceded his brother wash over him.

"Daemonar, go terrorize your mother," Lucivar murmured to his son.

"Mommy!"

"Yes, go see Mommy," and the little boy half walked, half flew towards the eyrie.

Lucivar squared himself towards his on coming brother and assumed a discreet, he hoped, battle stance.

Daemon stopped in front of Lucivar and met his eyes with disconcerting intensity before letting out a heavy sigh that eased the frigid edge of his rage.

"I cannot please my wife, my Queen."

Lucivar would have laughed, the idea was preposterous that the great Daemon Sadi could not please a woman, but his brother was deathly serious.

"In what way?" Lucivar asked carefully, cautiously, but a bit of mirth made its way in. It was hard to take anything very seriously when you had a just been with Daemonar.

Daemon suddenly laughed sharply without humor at first and then the irony of the situation began to become clear to him too.

Daemon moved with the feline grace that never left him to sit on a newly installed bench in Marian's garden and Lucivar joined him. Daemon started at his hands for a long time before he broke the silence.

"She has asked for things I cannot give."

Lucivar waited. He understood with just those words the territory Daemon was covering.

"She deserves everything and I have waited for so long to be with a woman that I loved…and now I can't."

Lucivar nodded and prepared himself to discuss matters that they had danced around for years since they had both found their wives.

"It's not so bad, you know, in the moment," Lucivar started and then realized that he'd sort of started in the middle.

"You know, when you're…aroused and she's…doing nice things too…It's not the same."

Daemon lifted his head and narrowed his eyes at his brother.

"That doesn't sound like the dangerous pleasure slave that I remember you being," Daemon growled and then taunted, "Do you miss it then? Can't get your pleasure without a little humiliation to spice things up?"

Lucivar give him a confused look. "What exactly are we talking about?"

"THE GAMES," Daemon roared.

Lucivar regarded his brother and knew that his was missing something very important. He decided to just start with an explanation of what he had been talking about. In a significantly lower tone that Daemon had just used, he said, "Marian gets feisty. She bites."

Daemon looked dumbfounded.

"And sometimes, when she's really riled, she scratches up my back and my, ah, bottom. Makes is hard to sit for a day, but it's not the same as when those bitches hurt me."

Daemon still just stared at him.

"I love Marian," Lucivar said fiercely. Then he smirked and added, "and I don't mind that she marks me in fits of passion that I willing create. But then again, Eyriens are much rougher lovers than delicate Hayllians."

Daemon laughed again and shook his head. He chuckled a while before he stopped and went quiet again.

"It wasn't the same for me, brother. Those bitches punished me with the ring and when they were brave enough, the lash, but Dorothea had a taste for humiliation…for twisting any feelings of tenderness or honor…or willingness to serve…to...to...submit…into weapons to use against me."

Lucivar waited again because he did not know what to say. He'd always known that the slavery was different for Daemon but they had never discussed it in such detail before.

The Queen of Pruul had been viscous and she had certainly been a sadist, but in the more traditional sense of the word. She enjoyed his pain and humiliation but she was not as emotionally subtle as Dorothea. And for his part, Lucivar was too practical to be truly emotionally damaged by the likes of Zuultah. He had dealt with the pain and the forced sex but none of them could make him feel less than the already did as an unwanted, half-breed.

Daemon had been used much less as a personal punching bag than for sex, for decoration, for the opportunity to pretend for a moment that you bent the will of a powerful predator to your own. Daemon had managed to protect his kindness, his sense of honor, and even parts of his sense of humor, but he no longer knew how to submit his body to a woman. He had cared for women who were worthy to spite the cruel Queens and he had lived by what Protocol was left to him to infuriate them, but there had been only one part of his anatomy that he had been able to save from their taint. And it hadn't been enough.

"So, it's not pain she wants," Lucivar said stupidly. At least he felt stupid saying it because it seemed insignificant to what Daemon was talking about.

"No," Daemon said.

Lucivar had pondered the question of why Marian could bite him and it only aroused him. He had decided that it was just that you couldn't beat the natural tendency towards rough sex out of an Eyrien and it had made him smile. So he had felt qualified to discuss this with his brother, but now he was on shaky ground.

Lucivar decided to make Daemon answer the only question that he felt was important to this decision.

"Do you love her?"

Daemon raised his eyes to his brother. His eyes were bright with unshed tears but they burned with such certainty that Lucivar almost teared up himself...almost.

"Then go to her and give her what you can, Daemon. She loves you and she will guide you through this."

Daemon looked away from Lucivar and into his lap. He nodded and rose to go. He lifted his face and the solemn look had been replaced with a quirky grin.

"When did you get so good at this, prick?"

"I've always been good, bastard."


	5. Chapter 5

Daemon spent the remainder of the day wandering the streets of a nearby town. His gaze was firmly fixed on his own feet as he walked because his mind was elsewhere. Luckily for the general population, Daemon's cold rage was gone. He was so lost in his own thoughts that the power that usually preceded him was dampened and most people hardly noticed him as he passed.

As he walked in endlessly random patterns so his thoughts behaved. He reflected on events that he had not thought about in centuries, and for good reason, right along side tender feelings for his wife. His conversation with Lucivar had, in a way, given him permission to consider the horrible things that had been done to him and no longer be ashamed. There was a context in which pain could be acceptable form of arousement and there was a context in which sexual submission to a woman could be given without humiliation. So there was no need to feel defiled or reluctant to perform. Not with Jaenelle.

* * *

Jaenelle had elected to take dinner in her room. She was lazily making curvy lines in her barely eaten mashed potatoes when she felt Daemon enter the house. He moved swiftly to the Consort's suite and slammed the door shut.

Janelle jumped and dropped her fork.

* * *

Daemon cringed at the sound of the door crashing shut behind him. He had been in a bit of a rush to get to his room and the door had slipped. It didn't help that Jaenelle had scolded him before about slamming the door. When he used his power, he could close a door in stealthy silence but when he was agitated and used his hands, well, the procedure wasn't as graceful.

Daemon ignored the food that had been set out for him on the small table across from his bed. He'd had a snack while he was out and now he was too wound up to be hungry. He peeled of his clothes and jumped in the shower.

* * *

Jaenelle heard the shower start and gave up on any thoughts of slipping into the Consorts quarters with her uneaten plate of food and joining him. She had hoped that after a whole day of thought to himself they could discuss this together carefully and rationally. Apparently not.

Well, she thought to herself, it will just take more time than she had hoped. But she told herself this mostly to keep herself from thinking that she had done damage that could never be repaired. Or at least damage that might keep their intimate relationship from ever being the same.

* * *

Daemon toweled himself dry and slipped to his silk robe. The robe was a Winsol gift from Jaenelle and was a lovely garnet color that complimented his dark skin tone in a very tantalizing manner. Daemon padded barefoot over to his armchair and flopped down unceremoniously, his robe falling open to expose his bare chest. His hair was wet and tousled but as many women had observed before, he never looked unkempt, merely…temptingly rumpled.

Daemon rose abruptly and paced back and forth from his chair to the door to the Queen's suite.

* * *

Janelle finally gave up on her food and crossed her knife and fork on her plate. She sat back in her chair and sighed heavily.

Should she go to him? Should comfort him even though he may fight her? Even though he might end the night crying in her arms again? Or should she let his anger run its course and wait for him to come to her? Would waiting make it seem that once again he was being forced to crawl back to his Queen even though she held no controlling ring?

She wished she knew the best course of action but being a Queen, like being a wife, didn't come with an instruction manual.

Jaenelle rose and picked up her dinner plate to deliver obediently to Mrs. Beale's kitchen. Mrs. Beale cooked and cleaned but she did not fetch and carry. As she turned the knob on her door, she heard a faint knock at the door leading to the Consort's suite. She paused for a moment to ask herself if she had imagined it but then a louder knock came at the door. She turned and dropped off the plate at her little table before rushing to the door to answer.

* * *

Daemon took a deep breath and swallowed when Jaenelle opened the door. He had wanted to smile…he had planned on smiling but the expression just would not manifest itself on his face.

Jaenelle smiled, bright and loving, and his knees buckled a bit. He dropped his eyes away from her and took another deep breath. Jaenelle started to raise her hand to touch his face but Daemon stepped away. Jaenelle's smile faded but when he lifted his head to look at her again, she saw the inklings of desire deep in their golden fire.

Daemon shifted back again and this time gesturing with his hand so that his body position clarified itself as an invitation to come in.

Jaenelle stepped forward and Daemon turned to proceed her deeper into his bedroom. She had rarely been in his quarters. Consorts and husbands generally went to the lady's room to entertain their female. A male's room was considered a sort of private hide away. She stopped at a respectable distance from the bed or any chairs because she didn't want to seem to entrench herself in his sanctuary without his permission.

Jaenelle followed Daemon with her eyes as he walked towards the bed and sat on the edge. He sat there, leaning forward with his arms resting on his thighs, head down, as if he would soon be launching into a speech that she wouldn't want to hear. But when he lifted his head there was a quirk of a smile that proceeded to melt into a seductive grin that made her pulse quicken.

Daemon undid the ties to his robe and let it slip off of his shoulders. He put his hands behind him and dragged himself backwards onto the bed until the edge of the bed rested behind his knees. Before Jaenelle had another thought she was at the foot of the bed between his knees with his glorious body stretched out before her.

Daemon met her eyes and the seductive grin was gone. In its place was an arousing mix of need, devotion, and patience.

* * *

_I think I have a good love scene in me if anyone is interested so please reivew and let me know. The love scene would, sadly, be the end of this little story, but if there is no love scene it ends here. Thanks!_


	6. Chapter 6

_**Updated ending and Author's Note! I sort of posted to fast...bad author, bad! I had some helpful feedback during the night and some further thoughts. I Have marked the beginning of the updates with a *. **_

* * *

When Jaenelle leaned over him and put one knee on the bed next to his thigh, Daemon's calm left him. He tensed in his half-reclined position, feeling more naked than he had ever felt in all of the long years when his body was just a beautiful object for others to enjoy. But Jaenelle continued to move forward and placed a gentle kiss on his lips.

Daemon shuddered but relaxed, so she kissed him again almost chastely. She had touched no other part of his body but that simple kiss had reminded him that he was safe with her.

The Queens that he had been forced to serve, including Dorothea, had never bothered to kiss him. It was an unnecessary aspect of foreplay and his tongue could be put to far better use in other areas. Jaenelle, however, had taken to kissing like a duck to water, probably because it was also a part of her sexuality that had not been soiled when she had been violated.

Daemon let out the breath he hadn't known he had been holding and laid back full on the bed, easing his elbows out from underneath him. It took a lot for him respond to her kiss by put himself into a more submissive position, but this is what he had brought her into his room to do. Once he forced his muscles to relax, he felt better. It was not so different from when he pulled her on top of him so that she could ride him.

Daemon allowed himself to shift his eyes to look along his own body at her and saw that she was admiring his nakedness. He tensed again and shut his eyes against the scene. It should have been exciting, it should have elicited a sexual response, but it only made him prepare to defend himself.

Then he felt her lips, soft and light, against first one nipple and then the other. He shuddered again and unexpectedly there stirred within him the first sparks of desire. Jaenelle continued to kiss a trail down his chest and across his belly. She dallied there for a while, enjoying the feel of his firm stomach against her lips and the softness that had suffused his body without his realizing it.

Jaenelle shifted slowly, gracefully and then gently slid him into her mouth. Daemon moaned and could not keep his hips from stretching towards her. He hadn't known that he had responded to her attentions so thoroughly and it was only in feeling her mouth around him that he felt his own hardness.

Jaenelle toyed with him, although neither of them knew it. Neither of them had engaged in this relatively normal act before. Daemon, for obvious reasons, had never been attended to by a woman, and Jaenelle had never tried because he would never have let her. But it didn't matter. The pressure she applied was just enough to give him a taste of pleasure but not enough to make him feel trapped.

Daemon moaned again and dug his fingernails into the mattress. He wanted…Mother Night!...he wanted. For the first time in his life, his breath quickened and his mouth went dry in desire, not fear. The muscles of his body performed excruciatingly pleasurable transitions from soft acceptance to ridged craving, each promising release but never granting it.

When Jaenelle stopped and lifted her head, Daemon opened his eyes and lifted his head to look down at her again, no longer afraid of what he would see. She gave him a lop-sided grin of love and amusement and begin to crawl her way up to straddle him. He watched her with his eyes wide with what could only be described as a kind of wonderment and laid his head back once she was completely over him, an unconscious surrender. Jaenelle's eyes flickered with a woman's triumph, a Queen's satisfaction at an obedient male, and fear ran through Daemon at the sight.

But this time the fear washed over him and through him, leaving only a vague memory, as if his mind had only wandered off but his body relaxed again and reminded him that he still yearned for release.

Daemon lifted his hands and rested them on Jaenelle's shoulder blades, pressing on her gently. Jaenelle lower her mouth to kiss him. This time Daemon opened his mouth and licked at her lips to invite her tongue to explore. She obliged him and purred into his mouth as he caressed her tongue with his own.

*

Daemon slid his hands down her back and reached her hips in time to notice that she was positing herself to take him inside her. This at least was familiar territory, but where he would normally have lifted her and guided her, he simply let his hands ride her hips as they shifted and then pressed forward. He slid in so easily, so naturally that he almost lost his control. His thighs quivered with his efforts not to plunge himself deeper, not to steady her hips and rock them both to their fulfillment. He let his hands slip down over her bottocks and spread his fingers wide to cup them, pressing his long nails into her skin to give just a touch of pain. Jaenelle let out a small gasp followed by a throaty growl and stopped her movements.

Suddenly, a deep chuckle rumbled from his chest and Jaenelle raised an eyebrow at him. He had never had this particular problem before. He had never wanted so badly to fulfill his own body's needs. He had always believed that a good lover pleased his female and that the pleasure he received from Jaenelle was just an added bonus, just the body's reward for completing the mating act. But now he felt the primal stirrings of the male need. He understood just a tiny bit what the true Rut must feel like, the irrationally drive to cover his female, to spill seed again and again, to mark her, to possess her, to…

But Daemon had never allowed himself to feel that lust. He had turned all sexual need into violence because the thought of giving in to that all encompassing instinct with one of those bitches disgusted him.

Now his Queen had awakened this need and he would let her play with it, he would let her stoke the fire higher, because he needed it to be washed clean of all of the hate and hostility before he could trust himself to Rut in earnest.

Jaenelle watched him closely, her eyes gleaming with an unfamilar light. He looked at her and found that she was showing him a taste of corresonding female need. The violent passion that a female felt. The uncivilized desire that had been exciting and terrifying Consorts for centuries. Daemon was not a slave, but he was a male who was smart enough to recognize what Witch wanted from him. She wanted, occasionally, for her male to hand his body over, to give his seed as an offering to the female, to let her take instead of being taken. A male need to show his female that he was not afraid to place himself under her and tremble with need and sometimes fear, because during the Rut…she would be in the submissive position.

"I await your pleasure, Lady," he murmured huskily, pushing back the maleness that had threatened to take over, and inviting her to continue.

Jaenelle began to rock her hips and slowly established an achingly delicious rhythm. Daemon merely followed, as he knew he must, and moaned as the pleasure grew. Her movements became more firm and sure of themselves and with a last groan Daemon's body through open the doors and ecstasy took him as it never had before.

In those few seconds when he road his pleasure like an undeniable wave heading for the shore, he felt that he would do anything for her. She could strap him down, she could screw him raw, she could beat him…He didn't care. He was hers and that was all that mattered.

When it was over and the wave receded, leaving him weak and shaky, he shuddered at the thought. He felt disgusted with himself. Was that still what he was? Were those the only things that meant anything to a used pleasure slave?

But when he looked at Jaenelle and she gave him her loving smile, he realized that he was safe with her. He could offer those things and she would not take them from him. He could surrender himself to his Queen and she would take care of him. The offer was not wrong, it was right. It was the degree to which a Blood male should submit to his Queen. Only by giving everything could the true bond of trust be forged. Accepting that his Queen could do as she pleased with him, but never would was foundation for a depth of love that he had only heard about in the old stories.

It frightened him.

* * *

_**Author's Note: I feel it is important to explain that since Ms. Bishop has been vauge at best with regards to how Daemon dealt with the rut, my little imagination had already come up with its own details. This "idea" may become very uncannon of Ms. Bishop sees fit to explain herself. I had imagined that Daemon, as Ms. Bishop hints, turned violent when in Rut or dosed with safframate. But in more detail, I felt that he would not allow himself to feel the true lust and desire that came with it. It would disgust him when he looked around at his only outlets. So just as Lucivar made himself infertile and Daemon made himself impotent, Daemon, and perhaps, Lucivar before he was free, turned the drive to mate into carnage and violence before they really felt the instinct as it was meant to be felt. Maybe the first time they battled with themselves but I believe that they both had the self control to deny it in its true form. So, as you can see, I have used this idea in the above chapter.**_

_**This story is going to continue, so stay tuned. Please review! It's how I get new ideas folks, so if you want more, talk to me. Thanks!**_


	7. Chapter 7

Jaenelle would have paid almost any price to know what Daemon was thinking as he searched her smiling face. He seemed to come to some sort of realization and then he cautiously set it aside. A relaxed and sleepy look spread across his face and he let the tension out of his body again.

Lying next to him now rather than on top, Jaenelle took a moment to applaud herself for her handiwork. Her eyes wandered freely over him and she took in everything. The way his legs had arranged themselves carelessly as if they didn't have the strength left to straighten. The way his hands lay helplessly by his sides. The way his eyes were just barely shut as if he wanted to open them but could not.

Janelle wondered if he did the same thing when she luxuriated, eyes closed and serene, in the after glow of pleasure. Did he watch her and gauge the success of his seduction and his bedroom skills by the softness of her body and the peaceful look on her face?

She reached out with her hand and touched Daemon's chest. A smile began to spread across his face before he opened his eyes. Encouraged, Jaenelle let sexual heat show in her face to show him that she was satisfied and hopefully to get some attention paid to her shamelessly neglected body. However, when Daemon registered the desire in her look, he immediately tensed and almost backed away. Jaenelle froze and then slowly pulled her hand back from him to retreat to her own side of the bed. When he realized that his wife had pulled away from him, he looked miserably enraged.

It wasn't fear that she had seen in him at that moment but dangerous calculation and fierce self-preservation. They had explored unfamiliar territory and Daemon had found himself in a strange situation. He had reacted without thinking and now he was angry with himself.

It didn't take a mind reader to know that Daemon did not know how to deal with a female who had just pleasured him. He was over-reacting, of course, but he had maintained control over his situation by being the one who gave all of the sensation. Now that he had accepted pleasure, the rules of the game had changed. He was instinctually wary and in that instant of seeing craving in Jaenelle's eyes, he had wondered if he would be punished for taking his pleasure first. Then his reason had taken over and he felt stupid for distrusting her.

Jaenelle understood all of this and did the only thing she could think of. She opened her arms to Daemon and waited. It took a few moments for Daemon to fight with himself but finally he moved towards her and pressed against her. He buried his face against her neck and wrapped his arms loosely around her.

Before long, Jaenelle began to gently run her free hand from the nape of his neck, along his spine, and across his buttocks in long, soft, rhythmic motions. Daemon sighed and shuddered lightly, pressing himself closer. She continued to pet him, casual and undemanding. Eventually, where he was pressed against her leg, she felt him hardening again, but she ignored it. It was too soon. He was not ready. Daemon had open the flood gates and given her access not only to his body but to his complex psychology. She knew that she needed to navigate his emotional mine field carefully.

Here in her arms, he was a needy male for the first time since they had been reunited. When he had been unconsciously stuck in the role of pleasure slave, it had effected other aspects of his maleness as well. He hadn't had the trust to fuss with her to the infuriating extent that Lucivar did. He used sex as bait but he hadn't ever truly dug his heels in…or thrown her in a pond when she refused to listen. And he had let himself love her and serve her, and she knew the fierceness with which he did both, but somehow it had been too much for him to just need her as a female until now. A wife he could make love to and provide for, a Queen he could protect and support, fulfilling the duties of a Warlord Prince. But it was the simple feminine that soothed the male and taught him to be vulnerable. It was only then that a woman could heal not just the wounds from battle but the wounds of the heart. And it was then that she earned the right to be defended at all costs.

Daemon's father would know, Saetan would understand.


	8. Chapter 8

**I really didn't like the way that Chapter 8 had turned out. Sometimes I only have a little bit to right but I excites me and then I post it in a rush. Anyway, I have made some changes and added two small sections at the end that move the story forward a bit. Thank you for reading!**

* * *

Daemon awoke slowly, first becoming aware of Jaenelle's warm body still pressed against him, then his arm wrapped around her tightly, and then the smell and feel of her hair against his face. He opened his eyes and noticed that she had rolled over in the night. Now he was holding her from behind. He liked this position; he was used to this position. He snuggled closer.

The sound of brisk footsteps in the hallway brought him out of his reverie and he clutched Jaenelle closer to himself and actually growled deep in his throat. He watched the door intently and no matter who might have opened that door (his own valet, Beale, Kelas or even Lucivar) he would have seriously considered destroying them. But the feet wisely moved on down the hall.

"It's too early in the morning to growl," Jaenelle murmured to him. She readjusted her position, calling his attention back to herself subtly but effectively.

Daemon planted a kiss on her neck and obeyed the command to stand down. But then he was left to wonder at what he had been thinking. Growling at the hallway was over protective even for him.

This morning he had woken up with the compulsion to hide her away like he was a squirl with a prized nut and then stand guard like a much more vicious animal. It was a primal urge that felt related to the rut but was not sexual. He knew this instinctively, just as he also knew that Jaenelle would not allow him to fulfill his desire this morning.

"Didn't you say that you were going to drop in on your father today?" Jaenelle asked lightly.

"Uhm," was the only response she got because he was loath to leave her side.

"Good," she replied and she rolled over, looking up into his uncompromisingly male eyes.

He was about to protest, to assert his need to watch over her and keep everyone else away, when she added, "Say hello to your father for me," and smiled that smile that melted all resistance in him.

Jaenelle knew what he was feeling, a good Queen always knew, and that she had pointed him in the right direction.

Daemon sat in the chair he had chosen and fidgeted. He had taken a paperweight off of his father's desk shortly after he had sat down and greeted Saetan. He was now examining this item with great care and Saetan had given up the anticipatory look and gone back to his paperwork. If Daemon had come here to talk then he would have to start talking.

"I cried," Daemon blurted out eventually, forcing Saetan to put down his pen and lean back in his chair to listen, "There was…we had…I cried and she held me…held me twice, in fact, and now all I want to do is cuddle her up and growl at everyone."

"And this is more than normal?" Saetan asked in an even tone, obviously being aware that on an everyday basis, a Warlord Prince felt like killing at least handful of people in alleged defense of his Queen.

"Yes," Daemon said like a child admitting a transgression.

"Are you going to tell me what led to the crying?"

Daemon considered the question and then shook his head. Neither he nor Lucivar wanted their father to understand what being pleasure slaves and really done to them.

Saetan sighed and leaned forward.

"Did you think we loved them simply because they are pretty? That we defend them just because they are weak during their moontimes? That we serve them by instinct alone?"

"I…" Daemon started and then realized that this question was rhetorical.

"You will be your strongest for her and your weakest. When a Blood male finds his Queen, the one that matches him best, and he is accepted…"

Saetan paused seeming to recall one such relationship.

"Jaenelle has accepted the violence, the rage…the potential for utter destruction that you represent…and she will also accept the regret, the uncertainty, the tears…"

Another pause.

"…males would tear each other apart at the first sign of weakness or fear, but that does not mean that we are without those feelings. Violence would run rampant if not for female sensibility and control because males do not allow weakness in each other. And a Queen can hold you and comfort you one moment and take hold of the leash the next. That is the strength of the female; they all have it to a degree. Of course when a witch decides to fight and lay that control aside…," Saetan shuddered and Daemon did too.

"So…," Daemon started looking down at his hands.

"So, you felt that feminine power because you got emotional. She was there for you, she calmed you, not from rage, but from…well whatever you were feeling and now you know. Now you know why it is that Blood males would gladly lay down their lives for their Queens."

"Because they have all cried in the arms of their Queen," Daemon offered.

"Yes," Saetan replied.

* * *

Jaenelle tried to wait patiently in her workroom for Daemon to return, but after few minor magical disasters, she gave up. Saetan had warned her several hours ago that Daemon had left his office in a smoldering rage and now all she could do was wait for him to come to her.

Finally, when she had just about got herself interested in a new book Daemon had brought her recently, she felt her husband approaching the house like an ominous storm. She looked up from her book and shifted her feet down off of the couch so that she could plant them firmly on the floor. She closed her book, placed it on the side table and straightened her shoulders.

* * *

Daemon had been trying to calm himself for hours but had eventually found himself irrevocably drawn back to Jaenelle's side. As soon as he had turned his feet back towards her it was like a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders…but then he became angry at himself for not turning to her sooner.

Daemon burst abruptly into the house and then paused in the entryway to locate his prey. He shouldn't think if Jaenelle that way, he really shouldn't, but now his mind was so locked on to the idea of her that he wasn't thinking clearly.

Up the stairs he went, two at a time, and down the hallway to the upstairs sitting room that overlooked the garden. He paused at the door again, staring at the door knob, looking deceptively indecisive.

She was waiting for him, he could sense it, and he took a moment to let the feeling of a female waiting for him wash over him. A woman's anticipation had always fed the fire of his anger, but Jaenelle had always been different. Everything about her had always made his heart swell with love.

But now things were different. Now he was confused and angry and love wasn't enough to tame those unruly thoughts this time. Now there was something else inside him that would drive him to open that door and stand before his Queen. Now there was just instinct.


	9. Chapter 9

Daemon finally reached for the door handle and turned it carefully in his hand. He moved through the door as casually as he could but once he closed the door behind him and turned to Jaenelle, he was practically shaking in his anger.

Daemon himself was too furious to notice, but Jaenelle recognized it as a hot rage, not a cold one. This was an intimate and personal rage. Daemon's emotions had broken free of the chains he had wrapped around them so many years ago. The icy fury that caused his eyes to glaze over and focused his anger in a relatively controlled manner was no where to be found. There was no enemy this time, no foul witch to pay the price. There was only her.

Despite how dangerous he was in this moment, Jaenelle wanted to go to him, to enfold him in her arms and comfort him. But she could not. Not because he would harm her, but because he needed to make this decision for himself.

For two days, since she had nudged open the doors to his wounded heart, he had been essentially jumping at his own shadow. Everywhere he had turned there had been something to remind him of his slavery and humiliation. Her sexual dominance, her exploration of his body, her unabashed desire for her own pleasure, these things had awakened distrust and fear that he had believed he had left behind him.

Jaenelle understood that he hated that those feelings still existed in him. He had put her on an impossible pedestal and believed that loving and serving her would some how erase the past…or at least reduce it to an inconvenient part of his history. But that could never be the case.

And now came the final realization and the finishing blow to the slave that he had once been. He had grasped what he had been truly deprived of. A female could be tender and could soothe him with her touch. But he had never been seen as worthy of an unlustful touch. Jaenelle had been too distracted by his gorgeous body and his excitement over their new relationship to realize that he didn't know what it meant to surrender to the female nature and that it could cleanse him of his shame. She had believed his passionate idealization of her and she had missed his need to rediscover his maleness.

Lucivar had slipped easily into the male/female relationship with her, almost as if his slavery had been an inconvenient period in otherwise balanced life. Well, that's an Eryien for you…too stubborn to be damaged. He had yelled and stomped and fussed her into fits of spitting fury nearly from the moment they had met. Lucivar had known instinctively to seek out her presence during the rut until he had an outlet. And he had come to her, when he was ready, and told her of things that had been done to him. He had cried and then he had let it go. He had been wonderfully, annoyingly male.

Daemon however had focused on the sex as if it had been too ingrained into him that sex was all a female valued. She had made her mistake in holding him at arms length but it was Daemon's psychology that had made being her Consort, and eventually her husband, into the only prize worth winning. He had forgotten his male instincts to dominate when necessary in order to serve and protect her. He had fussed some, but in hindsight Jaenelle felt that he had been unsure of how to fight with her. To win would surely mean he would be punished by being sent away from her bed. So he had mostly obeyed her and never truly known the exclusive male joy of saving a female from herself.

Daemon hadn't let himself rut either. He had taken too much control over himself to allow such a breach of restraint. He could hurt her or scare her. But he had forgotten that the rut was not just a weapon that cruel witches used against males to get their pleasure. It was natural and served a purpose. If he would just let himself go, she could handle him. He would not harm her because a male would never harm his mate, the woman he had chosen to bear his children. It was just that a rutting male expected their female to submit their body to the mating. Resistance was incomprehensible. You just had to know how to dance on the knife's edge and when the dance was over you were rewarded with an exhausted and relaxed male.

And now he stood before her, trembling in suppressed rage because he wanted to cry again and he didn't know how. The other night, he had been so emotionally weak that he hadn't had the strength not to let the tears come. But this time it would be his choice. He could set the anger aside and come to her or he could let the anger eat at him until someone poked at the wrong feelings and he exploded.

Jaenelle needed to know that he could make the right choice. That he could place his feelings in her hands and let her help him. Otherwise, things would continue as they had and she couldn't allow that. Not just because Daemon would be denying what was good for him, but because she had plans for the Blood.

Daemon's idea of protecting her and taking care of people who threatened the Blood's protocol was to kill as he had so violently done to the witch who had thought to claim him for herself before he married Jaenelle. And while the Sadist could be a useful tool, Jaenelle ultimately wanted the Blood to return to the old ways of their own accord and not just because she might let Daemon loose on them if they didn't. She needed him to be able to deal with his past so that he could stand by her side and convince the Blood to live as they once had.

Jaenelle met Daemon's heated gaze calmly and evenly. Would he follow his conditioning a seek a victim for his rage or would he become a simple male again and shed tears for the tortured boy he had been?

* * *

_Note: I have, again, shared some ideas that I have about Lucivar and Daemon that are not expressly in the books. I have always thought that Lucivar fussed better than Daemon. I'm not even sure Daemon fusses much at all. Now I know that you could just naturally assume that he does but I think from some of the moping around that he does when he first joins Jaenelle's court, there is evidence to suggest that he didn't quite take to it like Lucivar did. I find this interesting._

_You know my opinons on the rut from an earlier note._

_Also, I have not yet read Shadow Queen yet, but I hear that Jaenelle and Daemon do appear quite a bit. I am curious to know from someone who may have read it, if we learn anything interesting or new about them or if it is just random story line. I'm waiting for it from the library so I may not be able to read it for a while and I'm dying to know if there is any actual information on them or the Blood in this book, unlike in Tangled Webs._


	10. Chapter 10

Daemon held Jaenelle in a fierce gaze and just stood there shaking as conflicting thoughts ransacked his brain. He felt her presence pull on him. He felt the strange desire his father had spoken about. He wanted to be weak and rely on her strength. He wanted to go to her and cry. He wanted to press himself against her like a frightened child and be comforted by her warmth.

But he couldn't.

His own voice in his head tormented him.

*Never a kind hand, an unassuming touch. Always wanting, always demanding, always TAKING! They ruined me. They destroyed things I hadn't even known were important. I can serve in bed, oh yes, I can give my wife and Queen pleasure, can't I? I was trained VERY well. But the simple surrender to my Queen is an unspeakable horror, isn't it?*

A violent shudder ran through Daemon's body and his eyes changed from enraged to cold, calculation. The voice of the Sadist started to croon in his head.

_Ah, but my dear boy, here, right here, is a female to pay the price. Hm? _

_And she will understand, won't she? _

_Well, it doesn't really matter, does it? They are all the same, aren't they? THEY ALL SCARE THE BOY!_

*NO!*

_Oh yes! Bury your rage in her, old son, bury it DEEP!_

*NO!....NO! I have knelt and bared my throat. I have sworn. Her will is my life.*

_You lied! _

*…..I know.*

_And so do I!_

*But I yearn…I yearn for it… I am AFRAID!*

_I know…I know. Let me protect you, hm? Her tender words and soft hands will only scare you…will only make the trembling worse._

*But...*

_She already knows that you lied to her. You back away from the knife, don't you? She knows it. Her will is your yielding body under hers, isn't it? Your life reduced to that of a __bedroom toy__, her docile plaything. Just like the OTHERS!_

*That's not true!*

_Isn't it?_

Another shudder coursed through Daemon and he took a jerking step forward towards Jaenelle, his face contorted with rage and confusion.

Jaenelle continued to watch him calmly from her spot on the couch as he took one measured step after another towards her until he was only an arms length away. He swayed as he stood so close to her, as the clamoring in his head for a decision reach a terrible crescendo.

And then with a gasping sob, he fell to his knees and buried his face in her lap. More sobs racked his body as Jaenelle leaned forward and slid her arms down his back. She rubbed her hands slow and easy along his body and kissed the back of his head.

"You are safe," she whispered to him.

"I…away…will….life," Daemon was mumbling to himself.

"Shhh."

"No," Daemon said and shook his head. He continued to seem to talk to himself but louder now so that she could hear him.

"I will not back away from the knife. Your will is my life," he said through his tears, "Press the blade closer. Your will is my LIFE."

Jaenelle began to rock him gently and hum a tune that she hadn't known that she knew. Eventually, his tears slowed and then stopped. She held him there for a long time before leading him to her bedroom. He stood there quietly with his head down as she undressed first and then he let her strip him. When they were both naked, she tucked him into bed and cuddled up close. She held him tightly until the next morning as if she were a Warlord Prince confining a cranky Queen to protective arms.


End file.
